


Bound

by Snooky_innit



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Binding with ace bandages, M/M, Supportive friend, Trans Character, Trans Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Trans Male Character, Trans Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), techno is only mentioned, unsafe binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:06:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snooky_innit/pseuds/Snooky_innit
Summary: Dream is binding in an unsafe way, George helps him.Techno is also trans but he's only mentioned.
Comments: 14
Kudos: 200





	Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Please, from one trans person to another, do not bind with ace bandages. This is fiction, I do not, in any way, mean to suggest this as a binding strategy.

It was ironic, really, how the only times Dream could really breathe were the times when he couldn’t breathe at all.

He knew it wasn’t healthy. He knew the risks. But he couldn’t breathe unless his chest was bound so tightly he couldn’t see it, and seeing as he was unable to get a safe binder of his own, bandages were his only option. Hidden beneath layers of bandages and a baggy shirt or two, he could almost pretend his chest had always been flat.

It hurt like hell. It left him sore and aching for hours after he unwound the bandages, and stole his breath away each time he wound them back up. But it was a small price to pay to see his chest disappear, to go from soft round wrong to as close to his true self as he could get.

And if it was illogical to put himself at risk solely for a flat chest, then so be it. He couldn’t bring himself to care. He wouldn’t go back to how it was before — because no matter how much this hurt, it couldn’t hold a candle to how much he’d been hurting before. The pain might have been distracting, but at least now he could get out of bed in the morning.

He thought he’d be fine — and that was his biggest mistake.

Parties had never quite been his forte, but George had refused to let him stay home. “It’s gonna the biggest party of the year, Dream!” he’d exclaimed, nearly hitting Dream in the face with his overdramatic gestures. “If you don’t show, I will take it as a personal betrayal!”

And that’s how Dream ended up standing in the corner of a room packed so full of bodies he could barely even move. The air reeked of alcohol and sweat, drunken conversations drowned out by the pulsing beat of a deafeningly loud song. He shrank as far into the corner as he could, his fingers clenched tightly around an untouched cup of sickly-sweet beer as he searched for an exit among the sea of people.

All his earlier engagements, coupled with the excitement of the party, had left him unable to change his bindings at all since he’d woken up that morning. He’d passed the eight-hour mark at least five hours ago. His grip on the cup tightened further as another spasm of pain wracked his chest, lightning-bolts of red-hot agony shooting through his ribs and his lungs. He couldn’t think through the haze in the room and that scared him more than anything else — because if he couldn’t think, he couldn’t find a way out. There had to be some exit in the chaotic tornado of bodies, somewhere to escape the stranglehold around his chest.

A cough tore from his throat and he doubled over, his drink sloshing and spilling onto the carpet below. His vision blurred. He knotted his hands in the fabric of his shirt, desperately trying to breathe. Around him, the party raged, uncaring, unknowing, a blur of beer and music and people he didn’t know. He needed to get out. He needed to breathe. He needed to —

“Woah, hey!” Dream stumbled and fell, and a pair of strong arms caught him just before he hit the ground. “Are you— Dream? Shit, are you okay?”

Dream peered through the dark spots dancing across his vision, and could just make out George’s concerned face, swimming above him. “N-No,” he managed to wheeze. “I need — I — I can’t breathe —”

George’s face turned serious in a split second. He scooped Dream into his arms, holding him tightly. “Hey! Move it!” he bellowed into the crowd, somehow loud enough to be heard over the music, and people murmured and parted. Dream’s vision blinked in and out, the pain in his chest fading to a dull, numb roar as George carried him up the stairs and set him down on his bed.

“What’s wrong?” George asked, his face pinched with nervousness. Dream tried to speak, but the bandages had crawled up his throat and choked off his words before they could leave his mouth. He clawed at his shirt, just barely managing to pull it down far enough that George could see the ace bandages beneath, and George swore loudly. “You’re binding with bandages?” he cried. “What the fuck are you thinking?!" 

Dream winced, swaying where he sat. George swore again, running a hand through his hair. “Take off your shirt,” he demanded, and Dream was too preoccupied with trying desperately to breathe to protest. He yanked off the baggy polo and threw it to the ground, and set to work trying to undo the clips holding the bandages together. “Get those things off, right now,” George said. “I’ll be right back.”

And then he vanished through the doorway. Hands shaking, Dream tore the bandages off and collapsed to the floor, air flooding back into his lungs. All at once, the pain became red-hot and he whimpered, gritting his teeth as he waited for it to subside. It didn’t.

Why had he ever thought this was a good idea? He should have left at the first sign of pain. He should have been more careful. Now his secret was out, and he’d never be allowed to bind again. George couldn’t keep a secret to save his life; it would spread, and everyone would find out, maybe even his mother, and he’d have to go back to feeling wrong.

He tugged his shirt back on and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing away the stinging tears before they could fall. He was an idiot. Everything was going to fall apart. How could he be so stupid? He —

“Here.” George burst back into the room, a lump of fabric piled high in his arms. “I didn’t know which ones would fit you, so I just grabbed them all. Are… are you okay?”

Dream didn’t move to get up off the floor. He didn’t think he even could. “What are those?” he asked, his voice hoarse and weak. George dumped the pile on the end of his bed and grinned, dusting off his hands.

“You remember Techno, my older brother?” he asked. Dream did, but just barely; Techno had gone off to college before Dream had even entered middle school.

“Well, he got top surgery a while ago, so he doesn’t need these anymore, but mom kept his old binders in the attic just in case.”

Dream blinked. The pain seemed to fade, if only a little. “Techno is… trans?” he asked, quiet.

“Yeah!” George said. “I thought you knew? Anygay, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I were to give you some of his old binders. We just need to figure out which ones fit, and…”

He trailed off, tilting his head to the side. His eyebrows furrowed. “Are you alright?” he asked, hesitation flooding his eyes. “I-I didn’t mean to assume, if you don’t want them —”

Dream cut him off with a choked sob. Suddenly, everything had gone from too dark to bear to brighter than he’d ever felt before. George didn’t seem to realize the source of his tears wasn’t sadness; he continued to flounder, biting his lip. “I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m sorry, if —”

Dream shoved himself to his feet and stumbled into George’s arms before he could stop himself, burying his face in George’s chest. “Thank you,” he said, his voice broken and hoarse and so much more emotional than he’d ever allow it to be otherwise. “Thank you.”

“Ah.” George hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dream and held tight, rubbing his back comfortingly. “Y-You’re welcome.”


End file.
